


Always

by 1863



Series: Rewriting the Rules [3]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1863/pseuds/1863
Summary: “What,” Graham starts. His voice comes out a little hoarse. “What are you wearing?”





	

Graham looks up from the book he’s reading when Richard wanders in, some time around midnight. 

“Hey,” he greets, surprised. He puts the book aside and shifts up the bed a little. “You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be.”

“Yeah, I know.” Richard shrugs out of his jacket and starts loosening his tie. “But apparently he just felt like watching this time.”

“Voyeurism?” Graham raises an eyebrow. “A man after your own heart, hmm?”

Richard grins as he unbuttons his shirt. “Too bad for him that my heart’s already spoken for.”

“You are such a giant sap,” Graham replies, shaking his head. But he can’t hold back the smile nor keep the affection from his voice and Richard’s grin widens when he hears it.

“Says the man who gave me a dozen long-stemmed roses yesterday for absolutely no reason,” he retorts, turning away to kick his shoes under the bed.

“That’s just being romantic,” Graham protests, but then Richard turns around again and Graham sort of freezes. Richard’s shirt is hanging open, unbelted trousers barely clinging to his hips, and there’s—

“What,” Graham starts. His voice comes out a little hoarse. “What are you wearing?”

Richard glances over as he makes his way to the closet. 

“This?” he asks blankly, holding up his jacket. “It’s Berluti. You were with me when I bought it.” 

“No, I mean— ” Graham clears his throat. “Not the suit. Underneath it.”

“Hmm? Oh.” 

Richard hooks a finger into the lace-trimmed elastic that circles his waist before snapping it back against his skin. 

“Client’s request,” he says. “He likes the juxtaposition, I think.” Richard looks up again and pauses, eyes narrowing, watching Graham closely. A moment later, a slow smile spreads across his face. “Well, well, well,” he adds thoughtfully. “Perhaps he’s not the only one.”

Graham stares at the garters that disappear under the waistband of Richard’s trousers and can’t quite manage a reply. The little teasing glimpse of dark lace is such a contrast to all that pale, pale skin. And the knowledge that there’s more under there, just waiting to be revealed—fishnet, perhaps, stretched tight over Richard’s endless calves and thighs; or delicate little ruffles, maybe, framing the perfect curve of that firm, round arse—

Graham licks his lips.

“I can wait,” he manages, eventually. “Do you just want to sleep? Get some rest, maybe?”

Richard stares at him. Graham always asks for permission, always, especially after Richard’s just been working. Despite all the bravado about being a professional, the last thing Graham wanted was for Richard to feel obligated to service him as well as his clients. This is different—this is _home_ , and Graham’s always been a patient sort of man. He never takes it for granted and he’s always prepared to wait. 

But when Graham goes to take his reading glasses off, assuming the silence is a yes, Richard suddenly darts forward and grabs his ankle.

“No,” he says quickly. “Leave them on.”

Graham lowers his hand. He eyes Richard over the tops of the frames and says nothing, letting him make the next move. Graham’s not stupid—he knows why Richard likes it when he keeps his glasses on, even if Richard was usually too embarrassed to admit it out loud. He lets his expression grow stern the longer Richard keeps him waiting and bites back a smile when Richard flushes a little. 

Richard takes step back from the bed, then another and another. He hesitates for only a moment and then, unexpectedly, he starts to move.

Graham goes still with surprise and takes a deep, deep breath. He’d already known that Richard became an escort after initially being a stripper, and he also knows that Richard hasn’t stripped in a long, long time. What Graham didn’t know, however, was that despite the lack of practice, Richard was still capable of putting on one hell of a show.

It should’ve been faintly ridiculous—a grown man swaying his hips and writhing against a wall, humping thin air and watching him with bedroom eyes—but it’s clear that Richard knows exactly what he’s doing. The liquid flow of his body as he sheds his clothing is designed to make Graham think of other things, to remind him of how it feels to have all that moving right against him: the graceful wave of Richard’s back as Graham presses into him from behind; the deep smooth roll of those hips when Richard rides him. The heat of his skin, the press of his thighs, the grip of his hands and fingers.

Then Richard pushes his trousers down and kicks them out of the way, and Graham has to swallow. The garters lead to stockings, to lace and black silk that’s seamed all the way up the back, and his erection is barely contained by a thin layer of mesh and satin. 

“Still think you can wait, old man?” Richard asks, raising his eyebrows as he starts playing with his nipples, hips still swaying to a non-existent beat.

“Cheeky little bugger,” Graham mutters. Richard just smirks.

“Would you have it any other way?”

Richard’s voice is light but Graham doesn’t hesitate. 

“No,” he replies immediately, and doesn’t embellish the answer with anything that could obscure what he’s actually trying to say. It wasn’t just a latent daddy kink that Richard had trouble articulating sometimes—Graham knows where questions like this come from, and he knows what kind of answer Richard really wants to get.

Richard inhales sharply. There’s a faint flicker of surprise on his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye, and one day, Graham promises himself, one day he’ll make that disappear. He doesn’t care how long it will take. If he says it often enough, if he can _show_ it often enough, one day Richard will believe him. 

Graham slowly looks him up and down, openly appreciative and openly hungry. Richard’s whole body flushes a faint shade of pink.

“Graham,” he says, softly.

“Yes?”

Richard climbs into bed and straddles his hips. 

“Touch me.” He rests his hands on Graham’s chest. “Please.”

Graham runs his own hands over Richard’s stocking-clad thighs. The silk is soft and smooth beneath his palms and he shifts on the bed, until their cocks line up and Richard curls forward, gasping. Graham smiles a little.

“If I keep my glasses on,” he murmurs, rubbing himself against Richard’s erection with slow, deliberate thrusts, “will you let me fuck you while you’re still in those lacy knickers?”

Richard leans down, breathing going ragged as Graham cups his arse and dictates the pace, not letting him move any faster.

“To be honest,” he says, panting, “even when we first met—oh, _fuck_ —” 

Richard cuts off with a sudden moan when Graham half-pushes his underwear down and slides a finger into the cleft of his arse. 

“God, yes,” he breathes, eyelids fluttering, pushing back against Graham’s hand. Graham smiles again.

“What about when we first met?” he insists.

Richard opens his eyes. He lowers his head and stops just shy of Graham’s mouth, warm breath ghosting over Graham’s lips.

“I’d have let you fuck me for free,” he whispers.

Graham’s smile widens.

“Is that a yes to fucking you while you’re in ladies’ underthings, then?”

A breathless little laugh is the only response. Richard’s hands slide up, cupping the back of Graham’s neck, silently asking for a kiss.

“It’s an always,” Richard corrects, voice very quiet, before Graham pulls him closer and lets him have what they both need to give.


End file.
